Pictures Tell a Thousand Words
by MissMollyBloom
Summary: John and Mary have no idea why Sherlock and Molly aren't getting along - until a closer inspection of some of the photos from Charlotte Watson's first birthday party sheds some light on the situation.


A/N: From an Anon prompt on Tumblr: "Going through old photos together and collapsing into laughter every three pictures, and zooming in on ones where they're pulling awful faces or ones that were taken at just the wrong moment."

I know they're supposed to be Ficlets (hence Ficlet Fridays), but this one got away from me! Also, because it's me, I took this obviously cute and happy and fluffy prompt and injected a healthy dose of angst (I told you all I love my angst). But there's a big, fluffy ending for you all.

Rated M for a little bit of smexy-talk.

Enjoy!

* * *

The case, which Sherlock thought was a nine, turned out to be only a one. The supposed missing heiress and the cryptic ransom note turned out to be nothing more than a minor lovers' quarrel and a practical joke gone wrong.

It was early evening when he and John suddenly found themselves at a loose end.

"So, dinner at mine?" John offered.

"Well John, I'd love to but-" Sherlock began before John cut him off.

"C'mon mate. You haven't been around since Charlotte's birthday."

It was true, the last time he had stepped foot in the Watsons' flat was to honour his obligation Charlotte's Godfather. It wasn't like he'd been avoiding the place ever since. At least not deliberately.

It definitely had nothing to do with a certain incident that happened when he was last there.

And it definitely wasn't the same reason he'd been avoiding Bart's.

And definitely not the same reason he'd taken every case he could get his hands on.

And it definitely didn't have anything to do with the fact that he and Molly weren't speaking.

"Where else do you have to be?" John asked.

"There's a journal article about post mortem bovine blood coagulation rates I've been meaning to-" John's disapproving look silenced him. "Well, fine, yes. Dinner sounds great."

"Good," John said, already part way through a text to Mary.

Sherlock waved down a cab.

As they climbed in the back, John's phone chimed with Mary's reply. The screen illuminated his face as he read.

"She says Molly's over, too."

"Molly?" Sherlock tried to sound casual, but failed spectacularly.

John turned to look at him, eyes full of surprise at Sherlock's response. "Is that a problem?"

"No!"

"Sherlock."

"Well, maybe."

"Bloody hell," John fumed, "What have you done?"

* * *

Molly held Charlotte on her hip with one hand and with the other hand tried to entertain her with a colourful plastic dog-rattle-snake monstrosity. Molly couldn't see the appeal, but Charlotte was enraptured. But then, Charlotte was fascinated by anything colourful, or anything that made noise, or anything she could shove in her mouth.

Mary was in the kitchen stirring the curry. Molly heard Mary's text-alert tone.

"It's John." Mary called from the kitchen. "He's done."

"That was quick," Molly called back.

Mary walked into the living room, placing two glasses of red wine down on the coffee table.

"False alarm, apparently."

Charlotte stretched out her arms for her mother. Molly handed her over, and picked up her glass of wine.

"So is John on his way home?"

Marry nodded "Just in a cab now. Sherlock's coming too."

Molly almost choked on her wine.

"What is it?" Mary asked.

"It's nothing. Just went down the wrong pipe," Molly lied, standing and heading into the kitchen for a glass of water.

At the sink, she took a few deep breaths to compose herself. She didn't notice that Mary had joined her.

"Seriously, Molly. What?"

* * *

John knew Sherlock was keeping something from him, and that something had to do with Molly, but all he could get out of him was that Molly was angry at him.

John had seen Molly angry at Sherlock before - he'd never forget the morning in Bart's lab when she slapped him after his failed drugs test. He knew the wrath of Molly, when rightly earned, was to be feared. What didn't make sense was Sherlock. As he sat in the back of the cab he seemed anxious, almost excited. Sherlock might never admit to these kinds of things, John knew his tells; Sherlock was running his hands on the top of his thighs - something John had only ever seen him do when on the way to a case.

But this wasn't a case. It was dinner. With Mary. And Molly.

John's curiosity was further piqued when they arrived at his flat. He was expecting Molly to be short with Sherlock, maybe sarcastic, potentially angry. He didn't expect her to be her usual cheerful self. There was no sign of the wrath Sherlock claimed he deserved. Instead she smiled warmly.

"Hello Sherlock, how have you been?" She asked.

In fact, it was Sherlock who was acting like the wronged party. Instead of answering, he merely grunted, brushing past her and slumping down into the armchair by the fireplace.

If Molly was upset by Sherlock's behaviour, she didn't show it.

"How was the case, John?" she asked.

John shrugged, "They just don't make spoiled brats like they used to, eh Sherlock?"

There was an awkward pause before Sherlock response. All eyes turned to the disgruntled detective.

"Yes. The afternoon was spoiled," Sherlock answered as if engaging in a different conversation.

John saw Molly depart to the kitchen, with the speed of someone who had remembered an urgent errand.

John stalked over to his friend, or the overgrown man-child, as the case may be. "What the hell is your problem?" he asked.

"Problem? No problem? There's no problems here? Do you see any? I can't?" Sherlock was rambling, as he did when he was irate.

John was about to grab Sherlock and shake some sense into him when Mary called from the kitchen, "Dinner's ready!"

"Not hungry," Sherlock huffed, curling himself into a ball and pulling his coat tightly around himself.

"Sherlock's having a sulk," John informed the women as he sat down with them at the table.

* * *

Dinner passed with friendly conversation between John, Mary and Molly.

Sherlock remained in the same position, curled up on the armchair.

When Charlotte got unsettled in Mary's lap, she took her into the lounge room – an attempt to punish Sherlock for his extremely antisocial behaviour.

"Play with Uncle Sherlock, honey," Mary smirked, handing her a box full of soft-toys, perfect for tossing at the tosser who was still moping on the armchair. As she returned to the dinner table, she could hear the soft rattles, rings and crunches of toys being thrown with the detective's head.

"Good girl," Mary smiled.

After dinner, Mary took Charlotte to bed. When Charlotte was settled, she returned to find all three in the lounge room, although Sherlock still hadn't moved.

"What's his problem?" Mary mouthed to Molly.

Mary swore she saw something like guilt cross Molly's face. But it was only for a second.

"I have no idea," Molly replied.

Mary shrugged. John rolled his eyes. Molly looked over at Sherlock with concern, then back to Mary with a small frown.

Mary didn't want to let the elephant in the room enjoy the first night of adult conversation she'd had in months.

"Do you want to see our photos from Charlotte's birthday?" Mary asked Molly. She knew that Molly was too polite to say no, and already stood to fetch the laptop before Molly said anything.

"We haven't had the chance to get them printed," John explained. "And there's a few we won't bother with."

"Like this one," Mary said, clicking on a thumbnail and filling the screen with a rather unflattering shot of John, mouth agape and pointing at something outside of the frame of the image.

Molly laughed, "What are you doing there?" She asked.

"I think that's just before Sherlock put a Mento-lolly in a bottle of diet pop," John fumed. "I was cleaning pop off the ceiling for weeks!

Mary heard Sherlock make a sound that she could swear was the stifling of a laugh. But he remained motionless.

Mary searched around for another image she remembered was funny. With a few clicks, the image of Sherlock's pristine white shirt marred by tiny chocolate handprints appeared on the screen. Mary remembered pointing it out to him at the time. Sherlock was distracted by something. At the edge of the image, Mary could see Molly standing with her boyfriend, Kevin. Mary followed the Sherlock's eye line in the photo – he was staring straight at them, his face tight in annoyance.

Molly laughed. "I've never seen Sherlock's shirts look anything less than pristine," she said.

Mary heard another noise from the armchair. This one sounded very much like a scoff. She ignored it and went searching for the photo of Molly holding Charlotte.

"I really like this one," Mary said.

"Yeah," John added, "Charlotte looks so happy with you, Molls."

"She does," Molly agreed, but Mary could tell that she was distracted by something else in the photo. Mary looked closer and saw that standing off to the side was Sherlock. He had an odd look on his face. Half-entranced by Molly but for some reason half-annoyed with her, too.

"This is a nice one," Mary said. It was a shot of Sherlock and Molly working together in the kitchen. Both of them had their backs to the camera, but their faces were caught in profile as they looked at each other. Molly had some flour on her nose. It was hard to tell from the still image if Sherlock had just put it there or was about to wipe it away.

"What's Sherlock doing to you, Molly?" John asked.

Mary could see Molly shift uncomfortably, "I think… um… maybe… ah… that's right! He's just pointing out something on my face," she stumbled.

Mary skipped to the next image. In it, Sherlock had backed away from Molly and the white mark on her nose was gone. Although, Mary observed, Molly's cheeks were noticeably redder.

Mary could see Sherlock begin to move. She knew it wouldn't take much to make him join in. She exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Molly and John before saying, "Oh my god! Look at this one! I can't believe we were able to catch Sherlock at such an unflattering angle!"

"Oh yeah," John agreed. "This one has to be emailed to everyone at Scotland Yard."

That was enough to make Sherlock spring to life, crossing the room to join them.

"Let me see!" he said, grabbing the laptop.

"Just kidding!" Mary smiled with false-innocence. "Welcome back!"

Sherlock didn't acknowledge her. In the struggle to gain control of the laptop, a new photo had been opened. In the foreground, Charlotte was sitting in her highchair. He face and hands and hair were covered in chocolate cake. Her face was so sweet and happy that Mary had never paid any attention to the two people standing in the background. It was Sherlock and Molly. Sherlock was looking at her intently, but Molly's gaze was averted and downcast. More interesting for Mary was that Sherlock held Molly's hand in his.

Mary looked from the picture to Sherlock, then back to the picture, then to Molly.

John, who wasn't always on top of such subtleties, was still entranced at the image of Charlotte. Mary could see the moment he saw what everyone else in the room had seen.

"Sherlock. Molly," John began, "What the hell is going on there?"

Sherlock looked at Molly. Molly looked at Sherlock.

"Where should I begin?" Sherlock asked.

Molly shrugged, "Wherever you want."

* * *

"You can't stay at my flat anymore," Molly said casually as she and Sherlock stood in the Watson's kitchen, buttering flour-covered bread rolls. In just a few minutes, the flat would be teeming with toddlers, and their parents. Sherlock wasn't sure which group he was more worried about being forced to interact with.

"Why ever not?" Sherlock asked, even though he knew what the answer would be. Kevin. Kevin was brilliant. Kevin was a pediatrician. Kevin wanted kids of his own. Sherlock couldn't be sure, but he guessed that Kevin liked to curl up on the couch with Molly and watch Doctor Who. One thing Sherlock was certain of – Kevin definitely loved Molly.

Sherlock knew all this despite the fact that he and Kevin had never met.

Sherlock knew a lot about Kevin. Kevin didn't know anything about Sherlock. Kevin didn't know that Molly had been infatuated with Sherlock for years. Kevin didn't know that Molly helped Sherlock fake his death. Kevin didn't know that Molly cried by Sherlock's bedside one night after he'd been shot by Mary. Kevin didn't know that when Sherlock thought it was his last night in England, Molly was the only person he wanted to see.

And another thing Kevin didn't know was that not only did Sherlock routinely use Molly's flat as a bolt-hole, but that Sherlock and Molly been sleeping with each other on-and-off for the better part of a year (more off than on of late, he noted).

"Things are getting serious," Molly explained, "with Kevin."

Sherlock paused, his mind sifting through his observations of Molly in order to frame the perfect argument as to why she was wrong.

"You've been dating for two months. He's taken you to the movies, to the theatre, to the second – no – third best reviewed restaurant in London, but you haven't slept together."

Molly leaned in so as not to be overhead. "Sherlock, you of all people should know that sex doesn't necessarily mean that a relationship is serious."

Molly itched her nose, leaving a dusting of flour on it.

Sherlock wanted to disagree with her, wanted to say something to prove her wrong, but he couldn't. All he could do was lean in tenderly as if he was going to kiss her. He could see her eyes widen and pulse quicken. He smirked.

He moved to whisper in her ear.

"So, does that mean you're not serious when you scream my name?" He asked, "And you're not serious when you're begging me for more?"

Molly stood still, shocked. Sherlock turned to whisper in her other ear.

"And I guess I'm not serious when I tell you I want you. And I'm definitely not serious when I say I need you, am I?"

He lifted his hand as if to pull her in to meet his lips, but at the last second, wiped the flour off her nose and turned to walk away.

* * *

Molly was holding Charlotte, bouncing her up and down and spinning her around to make her giggle. Molly loved hearing her laugh. She could tell that Sherlock was watching her, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge him. Not after what happened in the kitchen. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

Molly had been dreading going to Charlotte's party all week. She knew Kevin wanted to go – she had never met a man more clucky than he was. But she also knew that Sherlock would be there. She had worked very hard to keep them apart, and so far had succeeded. All Kevin knew about Sherlock was that "that guy from the papers" sometimes came into Bart's when he was working with Scotland Yard.

Telling Kevin anything beyond that was going cause far too many questions.

Thankfully, he was on call that day, and would only be able to pop in briefly. The shorter the stay, the less likely he was to talk to Sherlock, and, the less time Sherlock would have to deduce the shreds of him.

As it turned out, Kevin didn't arrive until after Charlotte had blown out the candles on her cake. Mary passed her to Sherlock while she set about distributing small pieces to all of the children and adults present. Neither of them had noticed that Charlotte's hands were covered in chocolate icing. Molly was about to warn Sherlock when she left an arm encircle her waist and lips placing a kiss on the top of her head.

"You made it!" Molly said to Kevin, trying to hide her nerves.

"I'm a man of my word," Kevin smiled, pulling Molly into a tight embrace.

She didn't see Sherlock look at them. She didn't notice the grimace on his face, or the slight glimmer of sadness in his eyes.

Kevin didn't stay long before he was paged back to the hospital. Molly was relieved. With Sherlock in the mood he was in, she wouldn't put it past him to introduce himself by saying, "Hi, I'm Sherlock. I'm the man your girlfriend's been shagging for the better part of a year."

Thankfully, Sherlock was too preoccupied performing science experiments in the middle of the Watsons' lounge room. One involving diet pop and a Mento-lolly was well received by everyone except John.

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell have you done to my ceiling," John bellowed, causing more than a few small children to cry.

In the midst of the commotion, Molly escorted Kevin to the door. Kevin paused awkwardly before opening it. "Molly. Um…" He paused, as if scared to go on.

"What?"

"Can I, um, see you tomorrow? There's something I want to ask you."

"Sure. I'm got the night shift, but any time before is fine."

He made a noise like he'd been holding his breath. "Great!" He beamed, "See you then." He kissed her on the cheek and left.

Within seconds, Sherlock was by her side.

"He's going to propose," Sherlock said, nodding over to the door Kevin had just departed through.

"No he's not," Molly scoffed.

"He's got the box in his pocket. He kept tapping it nervously."

"It could be a nervous tick. He's never met these people before." Molly was reaching and she knew it.

"Maybe. But he definitely visited a jewellery store yesterday."

Molly rolled her eyes, "How do you know that? Is there something in his gait that reveals it? Or did a receipt fall out of his pocket?"

"No!" Sherlock protested, "I followed him."

"You followed my boyfriend?" Molly said, indignant.

"Yes."

"Oh my God." Molly couldn't believe him. She went to walk away. Sherlock grabbed her hand.

"I just had to be sure," Sherlock explained.

"Sure of what?" Molly was sceptical.

"That he's a good guy."

"Oh," Molly was shocked. She went to move away again, but Sherlock kept a hold of her hand.

"He is, Molly." Sherlock said quietly. Molly nodded, then looked down, afraid to meet Sherlock's gaze.

He let go of her hand and she walked away.

* * *

John and Mary looked at each other, then back to Sherlock and Molly.

"So you mean to tell me… that you two… have been… and for a year?" John stammered.

"C'mon John, it's pretty obvious when you think about it," Mary teased her husband.

"Really?" John turned to her, "Did you know?"

"No idea," Mary laughed.

"So, there you go," Sherlock said. "I left the party and I left Molly to have a happy life with Kevin."

"There's only one thing you missed," Molly added.

"What's that?" Sherlock asked.

"Kevin did propose the next day. He took me to the V&A Museum and asked in front of my favourite painting – you know the one with the clouds?"

Sherlock nodded, his face downcast.

Molly placed her hand on Sherlock's.

"I said no."

He looked up, meeting her smile with his own. "Really?"

"Really," Molly nodded, "Turns out things weren't as serious as I thought."

"Does that mean I can still stay at your flat?" Sherlock's tone revealed his true meaning.

Molly nodded. "For as long as you want."

* * *

John and Mary did end up getting all of the awkward, embarrassing and amusing photos printed up from Charlotte's first birthday party. They put them in an album and gave them to Sherlock and Molly to remember the day their relationship truly began.


End file.
